


I like my coffee the way I like you

by bellamysgriffinprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 15:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19298191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellamysgriffinprincess/pseuds/bellamysgriffinprincess
Summary: “Do you come here a lot?” Octavia pipes up, her eyes bright. He can see the meddling in her expression and mentally wills her not to say anything too crazy.Clarke glances between them, and he can see the recognition in her eyes of their similarity. She takes a long sip of her drink, humming appreciatively. When she answers, though, she’s looking at him, a small smirk twitching up the corners of her lips. “No, but I might start.”basically 8000 words of tooth rotting fluff in a “falling in love at a coffee shop” AU.





	I like my coffee the way I like you

**Author's Note:**

> WOW i suck at posting actual fics its been since OCTOBER?? lol sorry hope you enjoy this cavity giving sweetness :)

“Can I have another one of those pumpkin scones?”

Bellamy glances up at Octavia from his place behind the counter, narrowing his eyes. “I’ll be off soon, and we can get actual dinner, if you want.”

His sister huffs. “That’s another half hour. I’ll never make it.”

She’s being dramatic, and usually, Bellamy would ignore her. But, seeing as how it’s a later afternoon and her soccer practice was cancelled, he knows she’s pretty much stranded here with him and has been for two hours already. Plus, it’s been a slow afternoon. So, rolling his eyes, he slips another pumpkin pastry from the case to his left and puts it on a plate before handing it to her.

“Last one. I can’t just keep taking food, O.” She smiles at him, immediately breaking off a piece of the sweet and plopping into her mouth.

“Mmm,” she hums appreciatively. “I really don’t understand why pumpkin stuff isn’t a thing year-round. It’s a crime against humanity, honestly.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but before he can respond, the door opens and a blonde woman enters, head low. She drops off a bookbag with the Arcadia Southern logo sewn onto it into one of their booths in a corner while Octavia turns to him, grinning. “Bet she gets a…” She glances back for a moment and then meets his eyes again. “Medium, iced, nonfat, pumpkin spice latte.”

Bellamy really shouldn’t encourage her. “Whip?”

Octavia considers. “Light whip, extra sprinkles.”

“Very stereotypical, O.”

She shrugs, propping her elbows up on the counter as the girl approaches the register. While she’s looking at the menu, Bellamy takes a moment to look at her. She’s definitely pretty—blue eyes, just past her shoulders wavy blonde hair, short, nice figure. He smiles at her when her eyes meet his, and he recognizes the face of someone who isn’t sure what to get.

“Need help deciding?” he asks, and she purses her lips, glancing back at the menu.

“Maybe,” she murmurs, glancing at him with an eyebrow raised.

“Hot or iced?”

She smiles. “Iced.”

‘You like your coffee extra strong or sweet?”

“On the sweeter side today, I think.”

“Salty sweet your thing?”

Her eyes widen. “Yes, definitely.”

“Sounds like you should do chestnut praline. It’s seasonal, so you should definitely try it while we have it. It’s salty and sweet, and if you get it in a latte it’s really good.”

“You’re good,” she tells him, nodding. “Okay, I’ll get a large of that, please.”

“Want whipped cream?”

Her eyes widen on a grin, and it’s fucking _adorable_. “Yes, _please_.”

“What’s the name?”

“Clarke.”

He rings her up and she leans against the counter next to Octavia while he makes the drink.

“I really like your necklace.”

He senses Octavia’s hesitation without being able to see her, but when he glances over his shoulder, Octavia has let Clarke reach out and touch the pendant resting between her collarbones.

“Thank you.” Octavia’s voice is quiet. “It was my mom’s. She, uh, died two years ago.”

“Well, it’s beautiful. It really looks like it was meant to be worn by you.” Clarke’s own tone is soft, and when Bellamy turns back toward the counter, Octavia is smiling widely.

“That’s really sweet of you to say.”

Bellamy finishes up the drink with some whipped cream and the appropriate sprinkles, still trying to decipher the look on Octavia’s face.

When he hands Clarke her drink, she bites down on her lip for just a moment. It’s stupid adorable and kind of hot, somehow at the same time. “Could I see your pen?”

Confused, but curious, he hands it to her. Grinning, she writes an “e” at the end of where he’s written “Clark”, her neat penmanship standing out next to his scrawl. She hands the pen back to him, and his face is suddenly warmer than it really should be.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, taking his pen. He hopes his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“It’s no big deal, Bellamy. Now you know for next time.”

“Do you come here a lot?” Octavia pipes up, her eyes bright. He can see the meddling in her expression and mentally wills her not to say anything too crazy.

Clarke glances between them, and he can see the recognition in her eyes of their similarity. She takes a long sip of her drink, humming appreciatively. When she answers, though, she’s looking at him, a small smirk twitching up the corners of her lips. “No, but I might start.”

\------

“That girl was cute.” Octavia tosses her bookbag into the back seat of their car, falling almost aggressively into the passenger seat before propping her knees up on the dashboard. Seventeen has been a particularly sassy and aggressive year for her, he thinks. “Plus, she’s your age. I asked before she left.”

“O.” His voice is a warning, but the girl _was_ cute.

“She was cute!” Octavia’s giggle echoes, and he can’t help but smile.

He gives. “She was. Did you manage any other information?”

“Other than the fact that she was staring really hard at a sketchbook the entire time she was there, nope.” She shrugs, already losing interest in the conversation as she pulls out her phone. “Maybe she’ll come back, though. She seemed to like you.”

Now, Bellamy shrugs as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Maybe, but that was probably just because I was giving her caffeine.”

Octavia grins, patting him on the shoulder. “Everyone’s favorite drug dealer.”

\------

The next time he sees Clarke, she’s already settled at a table when he clocks in. Her coffee is hot today, probably because there’s still snow on the ground outside from a storm two days ago. She smiles when she sees him, a polite greeting from afar, but then her attention returns to her laptop.

A person in line leaves as soon as they have their order, and within fifteen minutes of him coming in, the couple of girls at a table by the door have left, too.

His coworker, Maya, leaves twenty minutes later.

And then it’s just them.

He shoots a quick text to Octavia, making sure she made it home okay, switches out the coffees, wipes down the countertops, and then glances up at Clarke, who is furrowing her brow at her computer screen. She doesn’t seem to notice him watching her, so he glances around for something else to do.

_“That girl was cute”_ keeps replaying over in his head, and she is, but he really shouldn’t care this much, right?

There’s a nervous pit in his stomach, and it starts to drive him crazy enough that he starts wiping off tables just to have something to do. He keeps looking at the door, almost praying that someone will come in and end his stupid misery, but no one does. Wiping down already clean tables isn’t nearly distracting enough, and he’s hyperaware of her presence just a few feet away.

_Get it together, sheesh_ , he tries to reprimand himself. _She’s just a girl, sitting in a coffee shop, probably just working on a school assignment_.

It’s not nearly distracting enough, but then he’s cleaning off a table two over from hers when she finally breaks the silence.

“Can I get your opinion on something?”

He’s so grateful that her voice has dispelled some of the tension in his body that he’s probably a bit too chipper when he replies. “Sure, what’s up?”

She turns her computer just enough that he can see the screen, and he squats down beside her to get a better look at it. On the screen, there’s a gorgeous graphic design of a forest, complete with trees and shrubbery, plus a single deer. Somehow, it looks like a watercolor painting, or like a picture of one, but he can still tell that it’s animation.

“That looks awesome,” he says honestly, and when she doesn’t respond, he turns his head to look at her. He regrets it when he sees she’s chewing on her bottom lip with her eyebrows furrowed, staring intently at this graphic like it’s going to spontaneously burst into flames. It’s an adorable expression, and he kind of wants to kiss it off of her, too.

“It just feels like it’s missing something,” she finally murmurs, tilting her head as if that’s all she needs to discover the answer she’s looking for. Her brow furrows even deeper, however.

He turns his head back to it to focus on something else, because the stirring in his chest is scaring him. Still, he wants to help, so he considers the lush forest, the bright leaves, the stark colors of the entire piece. “Maybe… Maybe not everything should be alive. Forests aren’t usually so… perfect?”

“So, it’s not quite realistic enough.”

“Maybe?” He shrugs. “I’m not an art person, though, so I’m not sure if I would listen to me.”

She turns her head to smirk at him. “Yeah? What kind of person are you?”

It takes him a little by surprise, her interest in him completely unexpected.

“I like history,” he replies, and he really expects her to scrunch up her nose at it like most girls do, but she raises an eyebrow.

“That’s pretty broad, Bellamy. What history in particular gets you all excited?”

“Uh.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Like… ancient Rome, Greece. Classics.”

“Nice. So have you ever been to Rome or Greece?”

“Uh, no. I want to, someday, for sure. Both are on my bucket list.”

She nods, considering. “I hope you get to, someday. I do mostly graphic design, by the way, but I like to draw, too.”

His knees are starting to get stiff, so he stands and moves to sit in the chair on the other side of the table. “I saw your sketchpad the other day when you came in. Do you usually turn your drawings into graphics, or are they different?”

 “It depends.” She considers her computer for a moment, and then turns back to him, lips pursed. “Do you wanna see my sketchpad?”

He nods, and she gets it out, handing it too him with her eyes downcast. It takes him a moment to flip through it, seeing mostly nature scenes, forests and various bodies of water. Eventually, he comes across some of people.

There’s one of a boy with a big smile and dark hair. “Boyfriend?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

Clarke laughs. “No, that’s Wells. He’s like… my best friend, I guess. We’re basically siblings. There is a few of my exes on the next page, though.”

He flips to the next drawing, seeing a girl with long hair. On the opposite page, there’s a boy with long dark hair, smirking.

“Who are they?”

She glances down at the pictures. “Finn, my first boyfriend from high school. Absolutely a terrible boyfriend, but he wasn’t so bad overall, I guess. And then Lexa, my first girlfriend, who I dated my first semester in college. She was… somehow one of the best things and worst things that ever happened to me.” 

He nods, handing the sketchpad back to her. She slides it into her bookbag.

“Where is your sister today?”

“Octavia?” he asks, immediately feeling stupid. _Duh, Octavia_. “She’s home. She’s seventeen, so she’s old enough to be home by herself. Sometimes she just chooses to come here when I’m working if she doesn’t have anything else to do.”

“Just the two of you, then?”

He knows the question underlying this one, but with her, it doesn’t make him want to grimace. Instead, he smiles. “Yeah, just us against the world.”

“It’s sweet, she clearly loves you a lot.” Clarke focuses her eyes back on her computer, as if she knows that the statement makes Bellamy’s throat close up just a bit, his eyes stinging for a moment. He blinks quickly, taking a slow breath.

“When our mom first died and I decided that I’d take on the responsibility for Octavia, it felt like a punishment. But… I don’t think I would have done anything differently, if I had the chance.” He shrugs, unsure of why he’s even saying so much. “It’s how we were meant to be, I think.”

“Does it still feel like a punishment?” she asks, her eyes finding his again.

He considers, but only briefly. “No, not anymore.”

Clarke smiles, her expression soft. “I don’t have any siblings. I think Wells is the closest I’ve ever had, but I’ve always thought having one would be nice.”

Bellamy gives her a half shrug. “Even with my lack of regrets for the last few years, O can be pretty annoying sometimes. You can borrow her any time you want.”

He isn’t sure what possesses him to say something like that, but then Clarke laughs, her eyes bright and the sound echoing in his head, and he doesn’t really care.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” she says when she’s composed herself, glancing again at her computer. She clicks a few things, then turns it back toward him. “Is this better?”

She’s added a single dead tree, lying flat on the ground in front of the original image. While he’s looking, she clicks a few more buttons and the colors seem to adjust slightly.

“I think add a few more touches like that, and you’ll have a winner.” He smirks at her, and she grins back. “Is this for a project?”

“Yes. I draw a lot of nature scenes, so you think I would be good at it. I still second guess myself a lot though and I can always get better, so I appreciate your help.”

“Couldn’t you just… walk outside and draw what you see?” he asks, and she pauses, considering.

“I guess I could. It just… wouldn’t feel as authentic?” She shrugs. “I like coming up with my own images.”

“It looks like you’re doing a great job,” he tells her honestly, watching as she continues to add changes. She smiles, still focused on her computer for the moment. 

“Thank you, Bellamy.” Her brow suddenly furrows, and she looks around the coffee shop. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you from you work.”

He doesn’t tell her that she’s the best distraction from work he’s ever had, that she’s the first girl that’s made him feel like this in more than six months and he would spend hours talking to her if he could. He doesn’t tell her that talking to her is as easy as breathing, and that it amazes him as much as it scares him. Instead, he just smiles. “There isn’t anything to do, trust me. So, what other changes are we making?”

And that’s what they do, until the sun has long gone down. A few people filter in for coffee, but none of them stay, so he always puts himself right back in front of her, asking for what changes she’s made and letting her bounce ideas off of him. It isn’t until thirty minutes before closing that he finally stands and stretches, shooting her an apologetic smile. “I have to start closing up, but you’re still welcome to stay until I’m done. I don’t want to interrupt your genius.”

She shoots him a playful glare, but her smile breaks it after only a moment. “I’ll find a stopping point soon and be out of your hair.”

He’s just throwing out the last of the brewed coffee when she walks up to the counter, bag slung over her shoulder. “Thanks for your help, again. Is it usually this slow on Mondays?”

“After about four? Yeah. It’s the slowest night of the week, usually.”

She nods, tilting her head at him. “Cool. Maybe I’ll have to make this a weekly thing, then. I got a lot of work done.”

He returns her grin, walking around the counter to start putting chairs on top of tables. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Did you drive here? It’s pretty dark, and I’m not sure how far away you live. I could… uh, take you home, if you want.”

Her grip on her bag tightens just a bit. “I… I took the bus this morning, to campus.”

Sensing her hesitation, he puts up his hands for a moment, moving to put up the last two chairs. “I don’t want to intrude or do any of the terrible things you’re probably thinking about. I just figured I could make sure you get home safe.”

She meets his eyes and seems to scrutinize him for a long moment. He waits until she sighs, nodding. A little bit of color touches her cheeks. “It’s not that I think you’ll do anything. I just… I just live at home still and… my mom can be… I’m not sure if I want to go home.”

His chest squeezes when tears start pooling in her eyes. He takes a step toward her almost automatically, pausing only when he remembers that he doesn’t really know her at all. But right now, she’s a girl crying in his coffee shop about merely the idea of going home, and ultimately, he can’t help himself. His heart reaches out to her regardless. He closes the distance between them, slow enough that she could stop him if she wanted to. Wrapping his arms around her, he gently pulls her into his chest.

A choked sob escapes her throat, and then she’s holding him back, palms resting on his shoulder blades. He waits, lets her take comfort from his embrace, moving his thumb back and forth on the small of her back. He has the sudden urge to tell her that she can stay with him, that he’ll take her wherever she wants, do whatever she needs to ease the pain he can sense radiating off of her.

“You wanna tell me about it?” he whispers after a moment, giving her a little smile when she looks up at him.  

“I feel like you’ll judge me if I do. My mom is Abigail Griffin.”

There’s a brief and immediate reaction to the name of their city’s biggest politician, if he’s being honest. He wonders, for a moment, what her daughter would be doing hanging out at a cheap coffee shop when she could probably go anywhere she wanted to. He also has enough time to kick himself for not realizing that sooner, considering he knew Senator Griffin had a daughter named Clarke.

But the girl crying in his arms seems so far removed from anything he would expect from that type of family.

She speaks again before his thoughts can go any further. “For what it’s worth, though, I never see her, and when I do, she’s usually judging me for pursuing an art degree and threatening to not pay for my school anymore.”

He nods, still rubbing small circles into her back, beginning to wonder if he should let her go. She takes care of that for him, taking a step back so that she can look at him better. His arms fall uselessly to his sides, and he tucks his hands into his pockets. She wipes at her eyes, clearing the tears there and looking at him.

She isn’t wrong. It would be easy to write her off as a spoiled rich kid complaining about how her home is the worst, but his heart is tugging almost painfully in his chest for this girl he hardly knows. Her eyes are still shining a bit with unshed tears. “My offer still stands, Clarke, regardless of who your family is. I can take you to a friend’s or something.”

It takes her a moment, but she eventually nods her head. “Okay.”

Once they’re in his car, she puts her hands in her lap, fiddling with her fingers. She gives him an address in a quiet voice, which he puts into his phone and then sets in his lap. He focuses behind him as he backs out, glancing over at her once they’re on the road.

“The radio doesn’t really work most of the time, so if you want to talk or rant, I’m pretty good at listening.”

She nods once, taking a shaky breath.

And she does. She tells him about her dad, who died a when she was ten, in a car accident. She tells him how her mom has been somehow overbearing and absent at the same time ever since. She tells him about how her dad always encouraged her to draw and create things, but her mom never understood why she loved it so much. She tells him how she’s pretty sure her mom is waiting for her to give up the art pathway and pursue something more “worthy”. She tells him that she’s afraid if she doesn’t change paths soon, her mom will stop paying for her to go to school.

She talks until he pulls up beside a small house, and he immediately knows it isn’t hers. He wants to ask, but she answers without him having to.

“This is Wells’ place.” He thinks she’s looking right through him. “I have a key.”

He gets out when she does, walking around to the passenger side of the car and standing in front of her. She glances at the dark windows of the house in front of them, lips pursed, before turning back to him.

“Thanks for the ride, Bellamy. For everything else, too.” She sounds so sad, so defeated, and before he even realizes it, he’s hugging her again, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight. She clings to him almost immediately, her face pressed into his chest.

“I don’t know much about you, but… “ He hesitates, knowing how crazy he probably sounds. “You don’t deserve to be ridiculed for pursuing what you’re passionate about, and I’m sorry you have to deal with that. Anyway, I work every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night. You’re welcome any time, if you need someone to talk to, or rant to, or critique your work, whatever you need.”

She leans back just enough to look up at him, her eyes a little brighter as she smirks. Relief settles in his stomach at the sight, undoing the knots that had taken residence there.  “It’s a public place, I’m pretty sure I’m welcome without your permission.”

He chuckles, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear from her jaw before he can stop himself. “You know what I mean _, princess_.”

Her eyes narrow, but she’s smiling for the first time in a while, so he takes it as a win. “I resent that nickname.”

“I think for that reason alone, I have to keep using it,” he tells her, suddenly aware that his hands are still wrapped around her back, hers still on his chest. She’s so close, so warm, he suddenly finds himself unable to say anything, too caught up in how she feels pressed into him. She seems to sense his shift, her eyes boring into his own with an understanding that scares him.

A smile tugs up one corner of her mouth, but she steps back, releasing him. “Thank you again, for everything. I’ll, uh, see you soon?”

He smiles. “I hope so, princess.”

She rolls her eyes, turning to walk toward the house. He watches from in front of his car as she unlocks the door, waits until she’s given him one more smile and is safely inside before getting back in his car and starting the drive home.

When he gets there, he sits in his car for a moment, trying to calm his racing heart. Even so, Octavia raises her eyebrows at him as soon as he walks in the door.

“Did you get laid?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Inappropriate, O.”

“Answer the question, B.” She sits up, expectant.

“No,” he answers simply, shooting her a glare. He feels a little bad when that makes her frown.

“You just… seem really happy. I haven’t seen you look like this in a while.” She shrugs, sulking into the couch cushions. “It’s nice,” she adds quietly, almost as an afterthought.  

Guilt rushes through him, and he sits down beside her. She stays silent, her hands in her lap. “I don’t want you to… overthink this, got it?”

When he looks over, a little bit of light has returned to her eyes as she nods. “Okay.”

“The girl from the coffee shop last week, Clarke? She spent all night at the coffee shop, we talked a lot, and I drove her… home.” He pauses, considering his words. “I think I like her, a lot.”

Octavia puts her hand over her mouth, but it does little to hide her grin. Bellamy rolls his eyes, shoving lightly at her shoulder. “I said don’t make a big deal about it.”

“I’m not,” she says, her voice muffled by her hand. Taking a deep breath, she moves it from her face. “I think that’s great. Liking someone again is a very important step in moving on from an ex.”

His stomach twists at the thought of Gina, but he knows Octavia is right. This is a good thing, no matter what happens. Pushing any negative ideations aside, he smirks at his sister. “I told her she could borrow you if she wanted an annoying sibling.”

Octavia’s mouth pops open in mock insult, but he can still tell she’s thrilled. She gives up the façade quickly, grinning. “I wouldn’t mind that, she seemed nice.”

He smiles, pressing his lips together in an attempt to contain it. “She is.”

\------

Bellamy spends the next two days thinking of her, wanting desperately to see her again. Still, he’s almost surprised when she comes in on Wednesday afternoon, smiling widely at him. He can’t help grinning back, watching as she saunters up to the counter, her eyes on the menu.

“You seem chipper today,” he observes, and her smile widens.

“I had a good day,” she tells him. “Let me get a cold brew today, light on the cream.”

“Got a big project due?” he asks as he rings her up and starts pouring her drink.

“Kind of. I need to do some animation stuff. I know how, but it can be tedious, so I definitely need the caffeine.”

He smiles, handing her drink to her. She doesn’t immediately take it and go back to her seat, so he leans against the counter. “I’m glad to see you in a good mood, Clarke.”

A little bit of color touches her cheeks as she picks up her cup, but the corners of her mouth tug up regardless. “I might have been looking forward to seeing you again.”

Bellamy pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, but he knows it does little to hide his grin. “I’ll come over when I get chances, in case you need company or someone to run ideas by.”

She nods. “I think I’d really like that, thanks.”

He does go sit with her every once in a while, sitting down right beside her and trying not to feel like a high school kid every time their knees brush under the table.

“So what do you want to do with art, once you’re done with school?” he asks around 7:30, when the crowd has tapered off to nothing. Everything is as clean as he can get it before closing, so he has the time to talk to her.

She purses her lips as she clicks a button and watches her few frames of animation play out. Then, she glances at him. “Last summer, I helped paint the walls of a library. The library had seen some rough times, and no one ever visited it really. The owners were friends of my dad’s before he died, and they asked if I’d help them, so of course I agreed. They let me attend the grand reveal, and I got to see all these little kids faces light up at the images I’d created and…”

“That’s amazing,” he tells her, purposefully moving his leg to bump against hers. “So is that kind of what you want to do?”

“If I can, yeah.” Clarke smiles, the expression a little shy. “It was just so rewarding, doing something like that. The library has more traffic now, too. I don’t want to be some famous artist, I don’t think. I just want to create art that makes people happy. And still make a living, I guess.”

“I think you’re already doing a pretty good job of the first part,” he says after a moment, shifting just a little closer to look at the cartoon characters that she’s animated and brought to life within the last hour and a half. “I think passion for things like that is half the battle.”

She smiles. “So what about you?”

“I always wanted to teach, probably history, like I mentioned before. But… our mom died at the end of my sophomore year, so I dropped out. I figured I’d at least get Octavia through high school first, and then maybe go back and finish things up.”

“I can definitely see you being a teacher,” Clarke tells him, steadily clicking away on her laptop.

“Is that a good thing?”

She looks at him, nodding, though a little color touches her cheeks. “Yeah, just your… I don’t know. Your gentleness and charisma would make a good teacher.”

They’re sitting shoulder to shoulder now, the shop quiet other than the soft music playing from the speakers. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

That night, he takes her to Wells’ place again, and she smiles widely at him before she gets out of the car, thanking him for his help.

He just smiles, unable to tell her, in the moment, that maybe she’s helping him, too.

\------

When she comes in on Friday, she sits at the booth that is quickly becoming hers, orders an iced tea, and waits until the five o’clock rush has died down before gesturing at him to come to her.

He glances at the two customers in the corner, who have empty drinks but also seem well invested in whatever they’re talking about. So, he strolls over and sits on the edge of the seat next to her. “What’s up, princess?”

She smiles a little shyly, reaching into her bookbag for a large piece of paper, slightly bigger than computer paper. She holds it to herself for a moment, where he can’t see the image on the other side. “I, uh, I did something for you.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

When she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, he almost gets too distracted to notice when she starts to turn the paper around. But then he’s staring at a sketch with minimal coloring, that clearly depicts himself standing in front of the Colosseum, in Rome. His jaw drops as he reaches forward to take the paper from her, amazed at the details that she’s included.

“It’s my way of saying thanks, I guess. For listening to me, and for all of your help.” She shrugs a little. “I figured you could keep this one, until you can get a real one, at least.”

“I…” He struggles for a moment to find words, eyes flying back and forth between the page and her eyes. “Thank you, I love it.”

Holding the paper with one hand, he wraps the other around her shoulder to pull her against him. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs into his neck, her own arm winding around his waist. It takes him a minute to let her go, still shocked that she would do something so sweet for him.

They spend the rest of his free time for the night talking about the places in Rome he would want to see, with her sitting sideways in the booth, her back against the wall and her feet pressed against his thigh. She listens the entire time, never once seeming bored or exasperated.

And then he takes her to Wells again once he’s closed, and she reaches across the center console of the car to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. It takes him by surprise, warmth filling him immediately, but by the time he’s recovered, she’s already out of the car, waving at him from the porch before slipping inside. He has his hand against his cheek the entire drive home, trying to remember what that all too brief contact felt like. Octavia grins at him when he walks in, but otherwise, she doesn’t react to what he’s sure is a dumbfounded look on his face.

That’s good, though. He isn’t even sure what he would say if she asked.

\------

Bellamy spends the next week wishing he had gotten Clarke’s phone number, because that’s how long it is before the bell above the door dings and it’s her walking in. She smiles when she sees him, and he can’t help grinning, too.

He almost forgets about Octavia sitting across the counter from him, but then she slaps at his shoulder unnecessarily, her grin too big for her face. He shoots her a look that begs her to behave, but she just smiles, twining her fingers together on the countertop.

Clarke plops her bag down in her booth, and then strides up to the counter, smiling at Octavia before pursing her lips at the menu. He waits, watching as her eyes travel over it and different expressions color her features. It shouldn’t be this fascinating, watching someone decide what to order, but he can’t look away.

Even when she catches him, raising her eyebrows when her gaze meets his, a stroke of bravery hits him and he continues to stare back, giving her a smirk. She certainly doesn’t seem to mind, if the smile and blush creeping up her neck is any indication.  

“Anything look good?” he asks after another moment, and she skims her eyes over him, slow enough that he knows he was meant to notice.

“Maybe,” she muses, glancing back at the menu one more time. Octavia makes a noise that almost sounds like a scoff, but she covers it up by pretending she accidentally inhaled some of her hot chocolate. Clarke doesn’t seem to notice. “But for now, I’ll just do a hot coffee, maybe with some of your pumpkin flavor in it?”

“If you’re getting the pumpkin,” he says, already grabbing a cup to write on for her. “You have to get some cinnamon, too. It’s an unspoken rule.”

“I wouldn’t want to break any rules.” Clarke rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning at him. Besides, when she takes the first sip of the drink, her eyes widen. “Wow.”

“What did I tell you?”

“I’m just going to start letting you pick all of my drinks,” she tells him, but she narrows her eyes at the cup where he’s written her name. “Princess” is written on the cup in big block letters. She meets his gaze, purposefully rolling her eyes. She turns her attention to Octavia, her smile softening. “I was told I could possibly borrow you?”

Octavia lights up, nodding. “Sure, I need a break from Bell sometimes, too.”

“Thanks, O.”

Clarke looks between them, smiling. “In that case, you wanna come sit with me? I might could use your opinion on some of my art projects.”

Octavia winds up sitting next to Clarke in the booth for the rest of the evening. He isn’t sure how much his sister is actually helping, but Clarke seems to enjoy her company. He joins them when he can, sitting across from Clarke at the table and realizing with aching clarity how much affection he already feels for her.

She’s being so incredibly patient with his sister while she asks a million questions about college, life, Clarke’s art, without ever brushing her off. She simply bumps her foot against his playfully once as he sits across from her, and it makes him grin like an idiot for a solid thirty minutes. And still, for whatever reason, he finds himself drawn to her, listening intently while they trade stories—her about her dad and them about their mom. It’s therapeutic, almost, and he’s sure Octavia feels the same way. He finds it endearing, to hear her talk about how her dad was her hero, to understand that his loss must have been tragic for her, as losing their mom was for them. Yet, she still has such a passion, which he can see any time Octavia asks her questions about her designs. The difficulties she’s faced have fueled her instead of discouraging her.

The more the three of them sit there together, the more it feels like it’s where she’s meant to be.

At about 8:45, fifteen minutes before the shop closes, Octavia curls up on the bench opposite of Clarke, using a jacket as a pillow, and falls asleep. Bellamy cleans everything except one last pot of coffee, and then sits down next to Clarke. There is a full, rolling landscape on the screen, and she’s working on the details of a cow with a picture on her phone as a reference when he sits down.

“How’s it coming?”

“Good.” She smiles at him, clicking save and closing the laptop.

“Thanks for putting up with my sister.”

She bumps her knee against his, and he mentally curses his traitorous heart, that nearly jumps out of his chest at the touch. “She’s great, Bellamy. Her enthusiasm is endearing, and she’s extremely smart.”

“Still.” He isn’t sure why he can suddenly feel heat in his neck. “It’s nice for her to have someone… older to talk to, I guess. Someone that isn’t me.”

_“I hope you stick around”_ is what he doesn’t say, what gets stuck in his throat. He wants that, so much that it scares him, both for himself and Octavia. Still, Clarke tilts her head at him, and he feels like she can see right through him.

“Has she not had anyone?”

He sighs, staring at Octavia’s hand where it dangles off the edge of the bench in front of them. “She had Gina, for a little while.”

In the pause, he expects Clarke to say something, ask something. Yet, she stays silent. When he turns to look at her, she’s regarding him carefully, but her expression is open, ready to listen.

“We dated for over a year. At first, she was great. She really felt like everything that O and I needed at the time. I had even…” He hesitates, looking back at Octavia’s hand. “I had even started looking at rings.”

“What happened?” Clarke’s voice is quiet.

“She wasn’t happy, in the end. We broke up six months ago.”

He can feel Clarke contemplating, and in the end, she moves just enough to rest her head on his shoulder, turning toward him just a little and reaching across her body to put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

At the same time that tears sting his eyes, her touch is like a lifeline. The pain doesn’t spiral, or wreck him like it normally would. So, he reaches over, puts his hand over hers on his arm and leans his head against hers.

“It’s okay,” he says, brushing his thumb across her knuckles.

“My first boyfriend cheated with me. He had a girlfriend.”

A flash of anger rises in his chest. “What a dick.”

She giggles. “Definitely. I only keep his picture because I really don’t want to tear out pages of my sketchbook and, to be fair, that’s one of my best portraits.”

Bellamy smiles, still stroking her hand. “You need me to take you somewhere? Home? Or Wells’ place?”

“Home is okay, today. Thank you.”

He needs to dump that last pot of coffee, wash the dishes, and put chairs on tables, but still, they sit there for another long moment before he’s able to pull himself away. “I gotta finish closing up, you think you can handle her?” He points at Octavia.

“I think I got it,” she says, shooting him a grin.

While he closes up, she puts the rest of her stuff up. They’re able to get Octavia up long enough to go to the car, but she quickly falls back asleep in the back seat. When they pull up outside of Clarke’s house, Clarke hesitates. After a moment, she reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small folded piece of paper, handing it to him.

“This… Um, it’s for both of you. Octavia, if she ever needs someone to talk to that isn’t you, and for you… just… if you want it.”

He glances down at the piece of paper, smiling when he realizes it’s her phone number. Surprised at her uncertainty, he makes a show of pulling out his phone to save her number immediately. “I definitely wanted this,” he says, hitting save and then tucking the piece of paper in his pocket. “And I’m sure O will appreciate it, too. I know I do.”

She grins, the cutest amount of color touching her cheeks. “Good, I, uh, I wanted you to have it.”

After another moment of consideration, she slides a little closer, stretching across the console to put her hand around his neck and press a kiss to his cheek. He moves before he’s even processed what’s happened, reaching up to wrap his hand around her wrist. She makes no moves to pull away, and when she turns her head to look at him, he can’t really help it.

He kisses her, the briefest press of his lips against hers. And Clarke smiles, the biggest grin he thinks he’s ever seen on her features. “I guess I should have given you my number a while ago.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, capturing her mouth again, more firmly this time. She kisses him back, tugging lightly at his hair. It’s only when he remembers that Octavia is in the back seat that he lets her go, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment.

“What are you doing to me?” he asks in a whisper, eyes still closed. She brushes her thumb against his jaw, and even that simple touch has his heart beating even faster.

“I don’t know,” she answers, and when he opens his eyes, she’s pursing her lips at him. “Is it okay?”

“Definitely,” he answers easily, giving her lips one more quick peck. “Definitely okay.”

“Okay.” She smiles, and as soon as she’s pulled away, he misses her touch. She grabs her bag, looking back at him with her hand on the door handle. “I’ll see you Monday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, princess.”

She narrows her eyes, but her grin gives her away as she gets out and heads up the sidewalk to her front door. Once she’s safely inside, he pulls away from the curb, glancing in his rearview mirror to see Octavia sitting up. Her eyes meet his, and she smiles.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

He knows she’s lying, but he can’t find it in himself to be even slightly upset. “Whatever, O. Here.” He pulls Clarke’s number out of his pocket and hands it to her.

She works on entering the number into her phone, and then she crawls up into the front seat while Bellamy stops at the end of the street. “So she’s sticking around, I guess?”

He swallows, glancing both ways for something else to focus on other than Octavia’s gaze. “I really hope so.”

Octavia doesn’t respond for a moment, probably still half asleep. “Good, I really like her. She seems good for you.”

Her words surprise him a little, and by the time he’s thought of something to say in return, Octavia has laid back down, her eyes closed. Tears prick his vision for reasons he can’t explain, and he takes a deep breath to try to reign them in.

“Yeah,” he muses, swallowing. “I think so, too.”

\------

It’s a week later when Clarke comes in looking extremely pensive, and he can tell she’s got something on her mind. She’s distracted when she orders, goes to her booth without saying much else. The lines of her face go back and forth between sad and angry, and she winds up taking it out on a sketchpad for the majority of the evening.

So, when he’s closing up, he finishes up quickly and then goes to sit in front of her. She starts a little, glancing around. “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I’ll go.”

“Hey.” She stops, meeting his eyes. On an impulse, he reaches over to put his hand on top of hers, squeezing gently. “What’s up?”

Tears shine in her eyes, and her mouth opens as if she’ll respond a few times, but she never does. It aches deep in his chest, and he wants to know what’s wrong so he can fix it. Still, he can sense that she’s panicking, so he stands, reaching out a hand. “Come here, dance with me.”

The shock of his request seems to dry her eyes for the moment, and she takes his hand so that he can pull her to the middle of the coffee shop and press their bodies close. The music over the speakers is quiet, and more elevator music than anything, but it works. They sway back and forth, and after a moment, she relaxes, pressing her face against his chest. Her grip on his hand is tight, and he waits, holding her close and resting his head on top of hers.

“My mom kicked me out.”

“Ah,” he says, understanding immediately. His next question is easy. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

She hesitates. “I could stay with Wells. I mean, my mom can find me there pretty easy and his place is kind of small, but it’s an option.”

He smiles, knowing the question that she doesn’t want to ask, that she’s afraid to ask. “Or you could come stay with me and O.”

She lifts her head to look at him. “Yeah?”

How can she not know how deep he already is?

“Clarke.” He reaches up with the hand that was holding hers, cupping her cheek in his palm. “Look, I spent more than six months alone because I couldn’t get over my ex. Then, you happened. Honestly, it scares me a little how easy it was to fall for you, but I’m not going to question it. You’re just… good. For me, for Octavia. She’s just as smitten with you as I am, trust me. Whatever you need, we’re here for you.”

A few tears slip down her cheeks as she reaches up to kiss him, pressing close. He can taste the saltiness of her tears on her lips, and he just holds tighter, tangling his fingers in her hair and willing the broken pieces of her back together.

She’s already done it for him, after all.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his mouth, and he smiles, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Anything for you, princess,” he says, and he means it with everything inside him. With a sudden, aching clarity, he feels as if he’s holding his entire world, like this girl standing in front of him is _it_ for him. Overwhelmed, he just kisses her again, until his smile breaks it.

She grins up at him, fingers still playing with his hair. “I love this coffee shop.”

He can’t help himself—he laughs, sure that he looks and sounds foolish, but he doesn’t really care. Not when she’s looking at him like that. “I think it loves you, too.”

\------

It’s a week later, curled up next to her in his bed on a Saturday morning, that he tells her _he l_ oves her, pressing the words into her hair. He doesn’t freak out about how it’s too soon, or worry that she’ll run at the words.

She doesn’t. She just smiles, shifting even closer to him so that she can kiss him, whisper the words back to him as easily as if she were saying her own name.

“I love you, too.”

That afternoon, she picks up the sketch of him in front of the Colosseum and spends an hour penciling herself beside him. When she presents it to him, she shrugs a little. “I figure we could maybe go together.”

And he grins, reaching forward to kiss her until his body begs for air. Pulling away, he whispers against her lips, “As if I’d ever go without you, princess.”

 


End file.
